Spring and Fall

 by Gerard Manley Hopkins

 to a young child

Márgarét, áre you gríeving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Leáves, like the things of man, you
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
Ah! ás the heart grows older
It will come to such sights colder
By and by, nor spare a sigh
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;
And yet you will weep and know why.
Now no matter, child, the name:
Sórrow's spríngs áre the same.
Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
What heart heard of, ghost guessed:
It ís the blight man was born for,
It is Margaret you mourn for.

Click on this to view the site where I copied the poem

Having experienced a different kind of loss recently, I find myself just as sad over something just as trivial as falling leaves. There is a physical sensation of dry mouth and choking, as though I had inhaled a cloud of dust. But the emotions are what define grief: denial, anger, bargaining, sadness, acceptance. I recently lost my full-time job, through no fault except corporate greed, and since I knew there was no talking my way out of this one, I seem to have skipped the bargaining stage. The most difficult part has not necessarily been dealing with reality, since my reality appears to be improving as a result. The most difficult part has been answering the same concerned questions over and over and over, ad nauseum. I don't mind answering those people whom I know actually care, but even their queries still exhaust me. What are you going to do? Where are you working now? Or the worst, from complete strangers: Are you losing your job? Though there were clear signs all over the store stating that we were closing and this was a liquidation sale. Keeping patience and gracefully answering were at times mutually exclusive. I finally just started telling the strange public, "I'm sorry, I don't feel comfortable discussing my personal life with people I don't know." The etiquette of privacy seems to have been lost somewhere in the technological evolution of a cell phone in every hand and a Facebook profile of every person. Only a quiet rage against the injustice of it all has allowed me to bare my heart here. Before I sink back into my relative, comfortable anonymity, let me just say this to those of you who really care: a hug speaks a thousand appropriate words, and I will never turn one down.